


The Saxon bride

by Blue_Apple_Queen



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Cultural Differences, Danes do it better, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Non-Graphic Smut, Pregnancy, Slow Burn, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17136725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Apple_Queen/pseuds/Blue_Apple_Queen
Summary: Erik and Sigefrid were never defeated, and now they have conquered many Mercian territories, each day getting closer to Wessex.While the lord of Mercia licks his wounds on Winchester, the King of Wessex makes an irresistible offer to the brothers: his daughter’s hand in marriage in exchange of an alliance.They accept.-Or: Aethelflaed marries Erik instead of Aethelred.





	1. Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing has me dead.

_Winchester, Wessex. Now._

 

She cannot believe it when she first hears it. She would take it for a jest, but her father has never been one prone to humor, and the stern look on his face betrays nothing. She is left speechless, both before her parents and the Witan. Her mother’s lips are pressed into a thin line, the sourness of her expression tells Aethelflaed everything she needs to know.

‘’I-I thought-‘’ _Calm down_ , she urges herself. She is Aethelflaed of Wessex and she will _not_ stutter under the Witan’s severe gaze. She inhales deeply before speaking again. ‘’I thought I was to marry Lord Aethelred.’’

‘’You were, my lady.’’ Lord Odda intervenes, his eyes somehow pitiful. _He feels sorry._ “But the circumstances have drastically changed.”

Oh, they had.

Not so long ago, Mercia had been in hand of good Christian men, the borders had been relatively safe and the common people of Winchester did not fear the heathen's raids.

Now, a couple of pagan brothers called themselves the kings of Mercia, their warriors had conquered it and they ruled together. Rumors of their pagan ways had reached the ears of the king, though not before the fallen lord of Mercia had reached the steps of Winchester's castle seeking refuge.

The talks of Aethelflaed’s wedding had stopped eerily, but perhaps not surprisingly.

And now she was being told her engagement was broken.

She does not ask why-the cause is easily guessed-, or to whom she’ll be marrying now. She’ll wait until the Witan’s members resume their daily activities and she can pursue her father’s company in private to inquire on his decision.

‘’Worry not, cousin.’’ Aethelwold spoke, his amused voice breaking the silence of the hall. He did not seemed concerned for her as Lord Odda. Through his drunken gaze, he appeared to be having fun. “You are still to marry the _Lord_ of Mercia.” His words were threaded with spite, and Aethelflaed feared their meaning. “Just not that one.”

“Aethelwold, you will remain quiet.” And thus her cousin shut his mouth, but Aethelflaed remained confused. What other Lord of Mercia could she possibly marry?

Her eyes searched for allies in the whispering crowd. Steapa wouldn't meet her eyes, keeping them down; meanwhile, Uthred pretended to be interested in the design of the ceiling. His men were not around, and Father Beocca avoided her gaze. Her mother’s expression didn't felt reassuring at all.

Finally, her father spoke again.

“Lords if you may leave us.”

They did, in seconds, the hall was was empty. Only her parents, Father Beocca and Uhtred remained, after Aethelwold had been sent away with the rest.

She found it odd, that her father would let Uhtred the Godless stay and not Lord Odda.

The quietness of the room did not prevail.

 

* * *

 

  _Mercia, Aethelred's former state. Two weeks earlier._

 

The king of Wessex must love his daughter very little or he must love his country too much. That's the first thing that came to his mind when the offer reached his ears. Erik wanted to laugh, to jest though he did neither. His brother did, however.

The hand of the king’s daughter, for a pagan no less! _What a jest._

Except it wasn't.

Erik had stared, blank eyed for a few seconds, as if he were slow minded. The messenger had shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, but Erik's mind was somewhere else.

It _did_ made sense. The pretty lord Aethelred would never recover his lands without the help of outsiders, and Alfred would not stand by the destruction of his army for the sake of a man who wasn't yet tied to his family.

 _Instead_ , he would bind his daughter and thus his precious Wessex to the current lords

While he thought about this, his brother had roared by his side. “ _A viking one to strengthen his lineage!”_ He gave a laugh, deep from belly. He nudged Erik. “What do you think? Should I bring her here and put a pup on her belly?” His smile was sharp and his eyes dark, but Erik was used to his brother's moods, and knew that the man was in good spirits.

Who wouldn't be, after conquering all of Mercia?

“It _would be_ wise to accept.” Erik said. “The king has only one son. Should the boy die early…” He shrugged. “Any child of the princess could be heir to the throne of Wessex _and_ Mercia.”

Sigefrid nodded, absentmindedly. “And I'm in need of a hump.”

The messenger stared indignantly at Sigefrid, but both brothers ignored him.

Erik snorted. “The king isn't sending his daughter for you to _hump_ her. You'll have to treat her well, or he will send a man after your cock.”

“He can't care for her that much if he offered her to us like cattle.” His eyes narrowed. “You should marry her.”

Erik froze.

He had assumed that his brother would be more than eager to be the groom, to have a pretty bride such as Aethelflaed of Wessex. If rumors were to be believed, she also had a good mind; bright as his father.

“You are the one that's always whining about needing a wife.” His brother palmed his back heartedly. “Wed her, bed her. If you grow tired of humping her you can always send her away after she gives you sons.” His brother shrugged. “Or you can hump a Dane woman too.” Sigefrid smiled widely. “I'll do it if you don't want to.”

Erik swallowed. Though it wasn’t a threat, he thought about the faceless Saxon girl that would have to marry his brother if he didn't.

Erik did love his brother, but Sigefrid had certain things that he had never felt comfortable with. Though Erik rarely voiced his concerns to him.

He did not share his love of killing for the fun of it, or the way he seemed to enjoy stretching his victims sufferings by torturing them-Erik would simply chop their heads off, a clean cut. Patience had never been one of his great virtues, the girl wouldn't fare well with him.

A Saxon wife, to Dane warlord no less, would come reluctantly. She wouldn’t be eager to share his bed, yet she would have to, for duty asked it from her. Sigefrid wouldn’t treat her well, Erik was certain of that.

_Good, he was already feeling responsible for her._

Erik licked his lips, finding them dry. His eyes found the Saxon man, boy, before them.

“I will do it. Go tell your king.”

 

* * *

 

_Winchester, Wessex. Now._

 

He had known of her curiosity, of her desire to speak with him. He had seen it in the urgency of her eyes after her father's news. But Uhtred hadn't expected her to actually summon him in private.

So there he was now, standing awkwardly in front of the princess, whose questioning look reminded him painfully of the king's. He wondered if the lady knew, or even suspected that he had taken part on the negotiations.

“What is he like?” The lady asked in a soft voice.

“Who?” He retorts, though Uhtred knows exactly who they are talking about. He is just trying to make time to form an answer.

It was probably best for her to ask him instead of Alfred, for the man would surely paint a somber picture. Damned Christians were too fond of sacrifice and suffering for the _right_ causes, Uthred would never understand them.

Truth be told, he _liked_ Erik Thurgilson. If he wasn't sworn to Alfred, and if his immediate loyalty wasn't to Ragnar, Uthred would have already gone to join the brothers.

Aye, Sigefrid wasn't the brightest light, but his brother was sharp and, somehow, honorable. A Dane not like many, Uthred had noticed he lacked his older brother's cruelty.

“Lord Erik,” she clarified, as if it were needed. “The man I am to marry.”

Uhtred licked his lips. “I'm not sure what you mean, lady.”

Aethelflaed fixed her gaze on him, abandoning the scrolls she was studying. “I've been reading about the Dane warlords, of their temper and lack of mercy. Of what they do to women” She took a deep breath. ‘’But I know that scrolls won’t tell history as it is, and I _know_ my father won’t tell me things as they are.’’ She gave him a faint smile.  ‘’And I cannot ask my mother, either.’’

‘’You _wil_ l tell me truth, Uhtred. I trust you to do it.’’

Uhtred sighed. ‘’What is it that you want to know, lady?’’

“What is _he_ like? I know you have met him before.”

Uhtred scratched his beard. ‘’I do not know him that much, lady.’’ He shrugged. ‘’He is not the man his brother Sigefrid is.’’

Aethelflaed raised an eyebrow at him.

“And that is a good thing?” Uhtred found himself nodding.

“A great thing, lady. He is smart and doesn't kill for the fun of it.” His words didn't seem to appease her much, but then again, what else did she expect him to tell?

“He seems... _honorable._ ” For a Dane, it went unsaid.

“What does he look like?” She inquired.

A smile formed on Uhtred's lips. “He is not pretty Aethelred. He doubles him on mind and strength.” A snort almost escaped him, at the comparison between the two men. “He's a few years older than you, lady. Got a few scars across his face.” He shrugged. “Like a Dane. He looks like a Dane.”

Her eyes went to his beard and hair, and Uhtred could almost see her trying to conjure her husband’s to be image.

Uhtred didn't think it mattered much, at the end she would end up married to the man anyway. Her father may have asked for her consent, but they all knew it was charade. He could only hope that the younger of the Thurgilsons would be... _kind_ to her. She deserved it.

He would have volunteered to form part of her guard, but he couldn't leave Gisela and his children waiting on him in Wessex.

Besides, the king likely wouldn't have let him. There would  be enough pagans around his daughter.

 

* * *

 

Aethelflaed did not sleep that night. She tried to pray, but her prayers felt meaningless, futiless.

Uhtred was no liar, she trusted that he had spoken the truth to her about the warlord Erik. But still, she couldn't help but fear their meeting.

The man may act a certain way around his fellow men, but she had no way of truly knowing him until she met him.

She tossed and turned around the bedding, thinking of how life would have been with Lord Aethelred.

She couldn't help but wonder of his reaction to her engagement. The Lord must have felt scorned, betrayed by his fellow saxons. Aethelflaed wouldn't blame him, she could only hope that he wouldn't try anything. Mercia had already suffered enough.

She had heard and seen (from Uhtred's lady, Gisela) that the pagan women had more agency that the Saxon ones. There was a chance that her husband would let her participate on the matters of state.

She avoided the thoughts of her marriage bed and children.


	2. Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience! I'm sorry it took so long, hopefully the next one will come sooner. Enjoy!

_Road outside of Winchester, Wessex._

 

Uhtred hadn't held any sort of hopes of attending the lady's wedding, so he was pleasantly surprised when king Alfred placed him -and by default, his men- as the leader of the party. It _did_ made sense that he would send him, if anyone knew the Danes; it was Uhtred.

So soon enough, he found himself on a horse ahead of the multitude of carts, soldiers and else. Father Beocca, thus Thyra, and Hild had decided to join them as well. And so had, to his good fortune, his beautiful wife, Gisela. It hadn't escaped him that Gisela was spending more and more time with Aethelflaed, to displeasure of the girl's mother.

Good for her, he thought. Gisela was the one to ask when it came to marry a Dane and live like one. She couldn't have asked for a better teacher. And besides, Uhtred knew how fond she was of the lady. Of her, and all the lost children that crossed her way.

Perhaps because of that, Uhtred had allowed the young man called Osferth to join him. Well, that, and the shame that it would bring Alfred. Old habits and Leofric would have come back to haunt him if he hadn't. The kid had his good traits too. Beyond his deeply religious being, he wasn't a half bad companion to keep around.

Also, Finnan and the others liked him well enough.

His ramblings were interrupted by a conversation between father Pylrig and Osferth himself.

They boy seemed to shrink down the weight of the other’s gaze.

“It just...It seems wrong to me. I thought there was an agreement, there was prize arranged and everything”

Father Pylrig barely shrugged before answering. “There was. The pretty Lord promised certain part of his lands as payment for the Lady.” At Osferth's silence, he sighed. “Those lands aren't his anymore to give, and so the Lady isn't his to have.”

“But to give her to a Dane…” he shook his head lightly, as if the fate if the woman who wouldn't call him brother haunted him.

“I don't see the Lord of Mecia being any better. And the girl knows her duty.”

“ _Former_ Lord of Mercia.” Uhtred couldn't help himself to address the state of Aethelred the Turd.

Laughter rippled through them and Uhtred went back to admire the greenlands that expanded before him.

Meanwhile, comfortable and well guarded -for only a fool would attack or try to steal from a royal party, and one greater would try to harm the princess- Aethelflaed sat across Gisela, carefully listening to what the woman was saying.

“You must not let down your guard in there, lady. This won't be the land you once knew.’’ The older woman spoke wisely. ‘’The men that reside there are not the Mercians, and some of them may oppose the idea of a Saxon woman becoming their lady.’’

She was in front of a difficult audience, Aethelflaed was amazed as how freely she spoke and how little she flinched under her mother and ladies's watchful eye.

A jar with a dark, warm brew was between them, reeking it's content smell. It twisted Aethelflaed's stomach, though some part of it could be credited to the nerves.

“We couldn't have expected more from godless pagans.” At her side, her mother fumed. She had been in a sour mood ever since her marriage had been announced and Aethelflaed had noticed the cold way she had treated her father as they had left Winchester.

To her left, one of her companions voiced her concerns about the marriage.

“Is it correct to marry a pagan while you are a christian?” It was like rubbing a sore spot, though she didn't seem to mean ill by it.

As if Aethelflaed hadn't spent the last weeks wondering the same thing.

Her other companion, a young woman, daughter of a councilman, opened her mouth to voice her own thoughts. “Not every elderman agreed with this marriage, my lady. They believe it's wrong for the king, God guide him, to give away our princess to an invader.” Then, likely realizing that what she said sounded like treason, she quickly added: “Not all of them. Not my Father.”

Gisela raised an eyebrow on her way.

“Some of those men believe me to be Aelfric of Bebbanburg's wife.” Her eyes shone somehow playfully, even with such subject. Her companion's mouth became a thin line, and she sunk back into the cushions. “Yet he has no say over me and my children are Uhtred's. So, I don't believe it matters.”

A smile formed on her lips.

“I do believe you will be happy.”

She offered back a weak smile of her own. “Thank you, lady Gisela.”

Not satisfied with this, Gisela boldly grasped Aethelflaed's hands, making the other ladies gasp. “You are a good woman, smart and pretty, and Erik Thurgilson doesn't appear to be either blind or stupid.”

The talk around her resumed, on whether it was or not was a marriage's purpose to cause happiness of all things. If it was right to enjoy oneself with a pagan. But Aethelflaed had stopped listening to them.

During their chattering, Gisela's eyes remained on hers.

Aethelflaed knew she would be allowed to keep her companions around once they reached Mercia as well a couple of guards of her own, but in that moment, she wished she could ask Gisela to stay too.

Later that night, she slipped out of her wagon when everyone was sleep. She had only intended to take a walk to clear her mind and free herself from the stifling company, when suddenly she stumbled upon Gisela, who was wrapped in a blanket and sitting next to the fire.

Not so far from them, Aethelflaed could see Uhtred's men watching them. But their presence didn't feel invasive, so she gave them a light bow before taking a place next to the woman.

Soon enough, she would find herself pouring her heart out.

“You should not worry much for what your ladies say.”

A pink blush appeared on her cheeks, and Gisela's eyes softened. The flames lightened her round face with a warm light, while the world around them remained dark.

“They meant no ill by their words, but…”

“But they come from a place of ignorance.” Gisela concluded and Aethelflaed let out a little laugh.

“I know my duties to Wessex, my father, and, once I marry him, my husband. But what if I can't-...” She shook her head and bit her lip, with a nervousness unlike her.

Finally, Aethelflaed voiced her true fears.

‘’What if I cannot love him?’’ She swallowed thickly. ‘’I do not mean to offend you, Gisela, but I cannot hope every pagan man is like Uhtred. What if he is wrong, what if Erik Thurgilson is cruel?’’

The woman before her remained silent for a while before answering. ‘’If he is cruel, do not forget that you are not alone, lady.’’ Her eyes shone with fierceness, and a warm feeling spread in Aethelflaed’s chest. ‘’Should anything happen, call for my husband, for us.’’ She squeezed her hands reassuringly, in a calming gesture. ‘’And should you fail to reach us…’’ Gisela’s eyes shone dangerously. ‘’I’ll get you a dagger before we get to Mercia.’’

Aethelflaed offered her a rare smile.

“And if I may offer a word of advice, just between us.”

“Of course.”

“Don't let him see you afraid. The Danes never fear.”

 

* * *

 

_Aethelred's former state. Mercia._

 

“Would you all stop with your bloody fusing?!”

Erik cringed inwardly at his brother's roaring voice. It was too early to deal with him and his loud ways.

The night before, in one of his unfortunates bursts of generosity, Sigefrid had insisted on having a feast in his brother's honor. And every man, warrior or not, Dane or Mercian that had been nearby had joined them in celebration.

Erik had tried his best to enjoy and ignore the fact that his brother was indulging a bit much on their food and mead. Their reserves remained untouched, but the wedding was near and it promised yet _another_ feast.

Sigefrid was becoming too trusting of the green, fertile lands they had conquered. Too much for Erik's liking.

Now that the morning had come, preparations were being made, things were being cleaned and men were being kicked out of the hall by Erik's warriors.

The Gods knew that he had kept himself from drinking to the point of oblivion. He hadn't been that tempted by the sight of their men falling on their on faces and pissing themselves unconscious. If Wessex’s party had arrived during that morning, it wouldn't have made a fine impression on his bride to see him in such deplorable state. So while he had indulged into the fights and wrestling games, he had only emptied a jar or two.

Sigefrid, unlike Erik, had taken no such considerations and was currently suffering the aftermath of his late celebration.

The fusing he was so loudly whining about stopped, and all eyes fell on Erik; who promptly told them to ignore him.

Sigefrid groaned.

“I believe I told you this would happen.”

A broken piece of _something_ flew towards him, but it was poorly aimed and Erik didn't even move to avoid it

He rubbed the palms of his hands over his eyes. It was _too_ early.

“Get up and go take a damned bath, they've told me the Wessex's party has been spotted.”

Sigefrid did not raise from his spot at the floor

“Why should I bathe? You're the ones who's gonna hump her.”

Erik narrowed his eyes. Sigefrid huffed, getting up.

Shaking his head as he walked out of the hall, his eyes went looking for the craftsman.

In the last weeks, he had done his best to restore some parts of the former Lord's chapel, which had been almost completely destroyed in their invasion of the place. Some benches had been placed on it, and more...christian things. Maybe the Lady would appreciate to have something like that, not that Erik understood or cared much for them

They had turned the state in a so called _pagan hall._ Erik liked to admire the outside of the building, to see how much they had changed it. Very little of its original look remained. They had hanged shields on its walls, taken down the crux and placed Thor's hammer on its place.

He had also tasked an artisan to fashion his bride-to-be a room of her own. Erik liked to believe that he would have someone to warm his cold feet on bed when the winter came, though in the meantime, the Lady could have one of her own.

Some mercian Lord -because they hadn't slaughtered those who had been smart enough to submit- had told him that it wasn't that common for spouses to share a bed.

He couldn't hope for too much in so little time.

His brother had laughed, as he often did in matters that did not concern him. He had mocked his younger brother for worrying so much about some Saxon woman, and had promptly told him to find himself some true Dane to please him, for the princess would be as cold to him as the winter in the land of her birth. While in the moment he had just punched his brother's shoulder, an easy laugh coming off his lips, Erik was, in fact, worried that it may be truth.

Frowning, and feeling a headache behind his eyelids, the younger Thurgilson went on.

 

* * *

 

_Nearing Aethelred's former State. Two days later._

 

She had known this was coming the moment Uhtred let everyone know they were nearing their destination. Well, she had known it was coming the moment they left Winchester, but it didn't make her hate it any less.

Aethelflaed would have liked to gaze upon the eyes of the man that was to become her husband before actually marrying him.

Not even Gisela could have saved her from this. There wasn't a dagger that could cut through tradition.

Reality came down crashing over her, or rather in front of her, taking the form of a veil. A pretty veil it was, pinkish with flowers sewn into it. The perfect representation of the child she would cease to be once they handed over to her husband.

She swallowed thickly, testing the fabric between her fingers. The nun's gentle, but firm words pounded in her ears. But she wasn't Hild, Hild would have offered words of comfort.

“It's the tradition, my lady. He won't look upon you until you are sworn to each other.” The woman declared.

How lovely such things had sounded when she was younger.

She took a deep breath. This was not the Lord Aethelred of Mercia. This was a man she did not know, one her father did not know.

Over her dress, her hands toyed with the handle of the dagger that Gisela had silently given her. She didn't plan to use it, but to know that it was there gave her courage. She would have to hide it before the ceremony.

He was a man she had no reason to dread or to be afraid of.

Aethelflaed looked at herself in the mirror, Gisela's words at the back of her head.

There would be no fear in her eyes when he saw her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was worth the wait. I know I cut it right when it begins the true plot. Also, don't worry about angst, we have just crossed most of it. 
> 
> Totally took the veiled bride from Uhtred and Mildred's wedding.
> 
> Don't worry about the dagger, no one is in danger!
> 
> Next chapter, wedding in coming ;)


	3. Celebrations I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all you comments! This chapter became longer than I expected, so I'm splitting it in two parts. Part 2 will be up soon.

_Aethelred's former Mercian state. Now._

 

The warm rays of light woke her up, her whole face slowly warming up. Aethelflaed pulled the furs tighter around her body, burying her face in the soft pillow under it. Surely she wasn't needed until later? The prospect of staying a bit longer on this _comfortable, cozy_ place was tempting. Sloth was a sin, she would have to confess later. Where we're her ladies anyway? Usually, they were the ones to pull her from slumber.

A loud snore sounded behind her, and all of her body tensed up. The events of the night before came back to her mind, and she found herself quietly squirming away from the man sharing her bed.

 _Her husband_.

She raised up to her elbows and pushed the hair out of her face. The braids Gisela had made for her laid messily on her back, but none of the flowers she had placed on them had survived the celebrations. Aethelflaed had attended her share of feasts, but none of them could have prepared her for the one her husband's people -now _her people_ \- had prepared for their wedding.

Said husband was lying on his stomach, his naked back slowly rising after each breath. He must have been exhausted, not quite as much as her.

Aethelflaed swallowed thickly, and turn her head to the side so she could see him better. She hadn't taken enough time to  properly look at him during the day, and in the night the darkness didn't let her see much of him. Her husband was fair skinned, much like herself, but unlike Aethelflaed, you could tell he spent his days outside. Hunting, fighting; he had a healthy blush that did not match her paleness. A thick blonde beard covered the lower half of his face. Aethelflaed remembered, with a rush of heat, how it had felt as he kissed her.

 _Her husband_ . She needed time to get used to the term, and even more time to get used to _this_. Some part of her was still feeling somehow ashamed of sharing a bed with a man that was mostly a stranger.

He wasn't bad looking. Erik was by no means Lord Aethelred, not exactly a maiden's dream, however, Aethelflaed found herself... _attracted_ to him. Uhtred had been right to say he looked like a Dane, with his blond hair, blue eyes and scarred face.

As if he could feel someone watching him, Erik blinked slowly, eyes opening and mind awakening. Aethelflaed fell down in the bed, pretending to be asleep. She wasn't ready to face him after the night before. She tensed as he moved, rising to sit on the mattress against the canopy. She could sense his eyes on her, and tried her best to appear at peace. She heard him sigh, and then the covers were being pulled up to her nose, shielding her skin from the cold morning air.  

He stayed still for a while, silent. Then, Aethelflaed felt the ghost of his fingers in her hair.

The shuffling of fabric let her know that he was putting on his clothes. Her eyes remained closed tightly, she had seen enough of him the night before.

 

* * *

 

_The day before_

They had given her the room of a Lady. Aethelflaed couldn't know if it had been especially prepared for their arrival, or if had belonged to a woman before the brothers acquired it, but it was lovely. It reminded her of the women’s room that was back in Winchester’s castle.

Early in the morning, they had reached their destination. A young man had received the men of their party, and had directed Aethelflaed’s ladies to the room they were currently in. Heavily covered and surrounded by her women, Aethelflaed had left her wagon to be guided blindly.

She got tired of her ladies and their endless chattering before her dress was on. There was no other way to put it. As if she wasn't nervous enough, all they seemed to talk about was her wedding night. Between their giggles and double-meaning comments, the heat on her wouldn't cease to rise. Gisela sent her an amused look from her place in the cushions.

Eventually, Aethelflaed kicked them out. Though not literally, she insisted that she wanted a private talk with the lady Gisela. Her companions left on a hurry, sensing her mood.

The cold of the dagger kissed her upper thigh, and Aethelflaed wished once more to have her sword with her. The weight of it on her hands had always felt comforting.

A soft laugh escaped Gisela's lips, and Aethelflaed looked down.

“Would you like me to help you with your hair?”

It was the last thing she expected to hear, but Aethelflaed nodded anyway.

They sat in silence, as Gisela brushed strands of hair behind her ears, before tying them together in multiple braids. Gisela hummed softly to herself.

She appreciated the older woman's company, and she had a feeling that Gisela wouldn't have been allowed to be with her if her wedding had been in Wessex, and to Aethelred.

Lord Aethelred. He wasn't much of a Lord anymore, or so she had been told. Apparently, he didn't appreciate the fact that their engagement had been broke and did some very _rash_ things; the first one being demanding her father. If Uhtred's men were to be believed, the Lord had insisted on raising Wessex's fiords to go liberate Mercia from the tyranny of the Thurgilson brothers.

In response, seeing that the man was unable to call upon his own army, and that many of the Mercia Lord's had submitted to the Dane brothers, King Alfred of Wessex had decided that it may not be on his people's best interest to help the disgraced man. After that, Aethelflaed wasn't aware of how the negotiations went, or which side started them on the first place.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to know.

Gisela's soft voice took her out of her thoughts.

“Was there something you wanted to ask me, or you just wanted them gone?”

Aethelflaed looked down at her hands, and hoped that the pink on her cheeks didn't show as much as she felt it.

“There is no shame in that, they were frankly tiring me as well.’’

Aethelflaed offered an apologetic smile, even if Gisela couldn’t see her. ‘’They are just excited for the _pagan_ celebrations, it’s not something they would commonly see in Wessex.’’ At her back, Gisela snorted.

‘’They would not, but neither you would. What do think it’s going to happen today?’’

Aethelflaed bit her lip.

‘’We are not marrying at the chapel,’’ She began. Aethelflaed had been surprised at hearing the news from Uhtred. Her husband-to-be wished to have a proper pagan wedding in the woods, with an exchange of swords and vows. The priests that had come with the party had insisted on officiating the ceremony anyway. ‘’A priest will marry us within the Christian law...And I’m not sure of what will go on then.’’

Gisela hummed lightly.

‘’I married Uhtred in Winchester’s church. I would have liked to have a pagan wedding...Much like my parents and their parents before them.’’ She chuckled lightly, binding flowers to her hair. ‘’Your children may take after their father, and be pagans too.’’

_Children._

“Maybe they will.” She conceded.

Aethelflaed fisted her hands on her lap, the subject of her wedding night had been on her mind since the announcement of her first betrothal -God forgive her-, and it had been easy enough to keep it vague, with little she knew about what would actually happen. Lord Aethelred’s plush lips and boyish face had been every maiden’s dream, and Aethelflaed hadn’t been the exception.

Yet she knew nothing of this man she was to wed. Just vague descriptions offered by Uhtred, and the promise that he was a better man than his elder brother. But nothing else, not a laugh, not a smile or a voice to associate to him.

Not that Lord Aethelred had smiled or laughed much in her presence.

She could ask Gisela. Gisela, who had _three_ children. Who was a grown, married woman. But...The older woman knew enough of her doubts and fear, Aethelflaed still had some pride to protect.

There was a smile in Gisela's voice when she spoke.

“Are you _eager_ for the night celebrations?”

Aethelflaed almost choked on air.

 

* * *

 

There were some perks to be moved around the kingdoms by Alfred's whims.

Uhtred rested against a wall, pleased with the sunny day and the cold air of the morning. A bright red apple on his hand, the man fixed himself a bite as he admired what had been Aethelred's state. There wasn't much mark of the Lord on it

_Like he had never been there on the first place._

The surroundings reminded him vaguely of the ones back in Old Ragnar's hall. The thought sent an unexpected pain to his chest. The men and women working around, running in a hurry to set the preparations. It was much like the home he used to have.

The thought of Old Ragnar brought Brida and his brother to his mind. Were they married now, he wondered. Did they share a gaggle of blond-haired, sharp-tongued children?

He shook his head and tried to focus on his apple, rather than in the sour separation from his brother and Brida.

“I'm still not used to it myself.” A man spoke from behind. Uhtred turned to find the younger of the Thurgilsons, cleaner than ever, in what Uhtred would guess to be his best clothes, stepping into the balcony. No sword at his hips and no sly smile on his lips, like the last time he had seen him.

“So much green... And it stays green despite the seasons. Nothing like the place I grew up.” Erik shrugged, a smile gracing his lips. “It's good to see you again, Uhtred. I trust you didn't have any trouble in the roads.”

“Only a fool would attack a royal party, especially one that holds the future Lady of Mercia.”

At the mention of his bride, Erik seemed to straighten.

“How is she?”

Uhtred raised an eyebrow at the man. “The lady?” He shrugged. “Getting ready. My wife is with her.”

Erik stammered. “No, I mean, how... _How is she?_ ”

Uhtred wasn't that sure of what he meant.

“Terrified, I'd guess.”

Erik swallowed, and nodded absentmindedly. “I imagine she's not very eager to marry a Dane.”

“But you are eager to marry her?”

Erik's face closed. “Marriage it's not about that.”

 _Strange_ , Uhtred thought. The Dane before him appeared to be almost nervous, why, Uhtred couldn't fantom. If anyone had the upper hand in the situation, it was him.

“My little brother has gotten cold feet?” A deep voice asked, and Uhtred and Erik turned towards the sound. Sigefrid in all his glory was right there, also in ceremonial clothes. And if it weren't for the faint redness of his eyes and the smell of wine that he carried, Uhtred would have thought he was as fine as Erik.

“Now that you have seen her you don't feel like bedding her much, ah?” Erik conceded a tight smile.

“I haven't seen her yet.”

Sigefrid frowned. “Why, what's wrong with her?”

The younger man sighed.

“Wessex's customs.”

Uhtred snorted. “More like christian customs.”

He nodded at Sigefrid. “Married my first wife like that. She was fine,  just came with a debt to the Church.”

Sigefrid laughed.

“Hopefully this one will bring no trouble, the Church is annoying as it is.”

Uhtred raised an eyebrow.

“You've got problems with the Church?”

Sigefrid smiled, it was a cold, sharp smile.

“Not anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed ;)


	4. Celebrations II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it finally happens. Aethelflaed and Erik marry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so very sorry for how long it took. Hopefully the lenght will make up. Also, better late than never right?

_Thurgilsons Mercian State, now._

 

It was a bright, clear day when Aethelflaed became the Lady of Mercia. The sun shone upon them and a soft breeze kept the air cool.

Aethelwold was the one to walk her from the palace to the place her soon to-be husband had chosen for them. Her ladies were following them from a short distance, along with a few guards, all of them Saxons. He wore a sword on his hip, one that seemed oddly familiar, but not in Aethelwold. Her cousin was no warrior by instinct, and Aethelflaed was certain that she could defeat him if she tried.

Aethelflaed was less than pleased with this development, she had ignored her cousin's presence to point of forgetting he had come with them on the first place. He had been kept away from her and her ladies wagon, Uhtred had let her know. Aethelflaed didn't need to ask why.

He had headed out earlier with his men and Gisela, who had offered kind words and wished her good luck until she left, hurried by her companions.

At the moment, as she walked, blindly guided by her cousin, Aethelflaed found herself wishing that her father had accompanied them. Though she wasn't certain if it was because she wouldn't see him for a long time or because she would have rather had anyone but Aethelwold to give her away.

Father Beocca, Steapa, even Uhtred would have been a much pleasant company. They would have offered kind words, much like Gisela had, even if they'd be awkward about it.

Unlike her _dear_ cousin, who just had to open his mouth and make her even more nervous than she already was?

“How are you feeling, _princess_? Are you anxious about starting your life as a married woman?” He spoke on a hushed tone as they took a turn, his voice barely above a whisper: making sure other couldn't hear him.

In anyone else, it would have been an innocent inquire, but Aethelflaed had the feeling that he wanted her to say she felt afraid and anxious.

Which she kind of did to be honest, but Aethelwold was not Gisela: Aethelflaed wouldn't bare her feelings for his pleasure.

She smiled behind her veil, even if he couldn't see her.

“I'm not, cousin, I feel that God has smiled upon me. There's great honor and joy in doing one's duty.”

Aethelwold laughed bitterly. “An honor I wouldn't know, for your Father has sent fit to deprive me of it. The one that God placed upon me the moment I was born.”

If anything, it was God's will that had kept him from becoming King.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood. “I don't know what you mean by that.” Her cousin snorted.

“Ignorance doesn't suits you, _princess_.” He kept that tone every time he spoke of her title. “It wouldn't be wise to keep that attitude with your husband.”

Instead of ignoring him, as she should have done from the beginning, Aethelflaed made the mistake of answering.

“And why would that be?”

Aethelwold stopped on his track, by consequence making everyone else stumble. He turned to look at her, and while he couldn't gaze upon her eyes, the fabric of her veil was sheer enough that she could faintly see his features. He was smiling, it was not a kind smile.

“He's not a man to be trifled with, princess. I would tell you to ask Lord Aethelred, but alas he's not amongst us.”

 _You can't frighten me_ , Aethelflaed thought, as the cold steel of her dagger pressed on her upper thigh. _He'll be gone in two days and I'll never have to see him again._

“I will find out on my own. Now, you are delaying us.”

The corner of his lips twitched, and his eyes narrowed. “As you say, princess.”

 

* * *

 

Erik was proud of himself for not flinching at being introduced to his bride’s mother. Lovely woman, cold eyed and sour faced. Gods above don’t let his bride to be like her. Lady Aelswith of Wessex was less than pleased about him marrying her daughter, and had no qualms about letting him know it.

Her father hadn’t been as concerned, Erik thought. It may have had something to do with the bride price. If only he had loved his daughter as much as he loved his country.

And the _Mercian gold_.

He refused to be let down by the woman’s attitude, after all, he couldn’t have expected much else from her. Or from any Christian mother whose daughter was to marry a pagan, especially one as devoted as she seemed to be. Uhtred had commented about the woman’s mood, between sly smiles and mugs of ale.

It hadn’t escaped him that he wouldn’t comment on his bride, _keeping the traditions_ he claimed. Gods above curse him, he had turned out to be no better than Sigefrid.

There were no bad omens, he told himself, though Erik had never been one to believe in such things. His brother would tell him to stop looking for signs and to think about the woman he’d mount tonight, but Erik couldn’t ease his shoulders. His mind tried to conjure the woman he was to marry.

She didn’t even need to be beautiful. Erik had bedded his share of women and not all of them had been Freya’s lookalike. Just let her be… _pleasant_. A good woman that wouldn’t shun him away for being a pagan, one that would give him many sons and daughters.

He had been the one to choose the place, the forest and a lake in which they could take their vows. He didn't care about what the Christians thought, it was enough that he had agreed for a _priest_ to marry them.

‘’Do you stand well, my Lord?’’ A soft voice took him out of his thoughts, he looked back to find Uhtred’s wife, Gisela, staring at him.

Strange, to think that he had once negotiated with this woman’s brother for her hand in exchange of peace and alliance.  The lady had proven to be far wiser than her blood, riding away from where she could be found. That was something that Erik could respect.

‘’I do, my Lady.’’ He responded.

‘’As you should, your bride is a good woman.”

_Finally, some words on her._

Erik tried to conceal his eagerness. “You are close to her?”

He couldn't see Lady Gisela befriending a spoiled Christian princess. And not every Christian woman would freely befriend a pagan one.

She nodded.

“Our friendship has bloomed in the road. My husband is quite fond of her too.” Gisela smiled. “I'm sure you'll have no trouble getting along with her.”

Erik cleared his throat. “I hope so, my Lady.”

In that moment, the priest decided to gather around the people. The Saxons obeyed quickly, but the Danes looked at Erik for confirmation before moving as well. He frowned at the man as Gisela followed his gaze. ‘’So that’s the man that will marry us in the Christian way?’’

‘’His name is _Beocca._ He _’_ s not a bad man.’’ Gisela responded. ‘’Uhtred holds him dear, he’s like family.’’

‘’No priest that is close to Uhtred can be that much of a priest.’’ Erik felt the need to point out.

Gisela chuckled. ‘’Some may agree with you. He is married to a Dane, Uhtred’s sister.’’ At Erik’s astonished face she smiled. ‘’There couldn’t have been a better man to marry you both.’’

_Both._

He huffed, just to hide his nervousness. “That's good to know”

In that moment, voices lowered and the hushed conversations grew. A young man announced his bride's name, _the Lady Aethelflaed of Wessex_ , and Erik went numb.

 

* * *

 

_Show them strength._

_A true Dane knows no fear._

And she was no Dane, but in that moment, those few seconds that it took to walk between the guests, both Saxons and Danes, Aethelflaed held her breath and puffed her chest. Though her heart was beating wildly, there was a sense of calmness within her.

This was it. She had crossed a kingdom to reach this place, to become its Lady. This wasn't fear. It was excitement, anticipation.

She could hear low murmurs even amongst the music, and though she couldn't see them, she could feel the eyes upon her. Aethelwold's grip on her did not relent, only becoming harsher with each step.

It felt like they were walking down to the altar, which seemed so far away. Suddenly, he stopped walking. But Aethelflaed was already stepping into the void, going down. Of all things that could have happened, slipping hadn't been one she had thought of.

But she didn't land harshly on her knees, or fall ungracefully in front of everyone. A hand stabilized her, gently holding her own for her to lean on, which she did.

“My lady,” A rough voice whispered. Then, there was another hand on her hip, and Aethelflaed was lifted. Water soaked the dress from her feet to all the way up to her knees, and she realized they were _in_ the lake.

Father Beocca cleared his throat.

“Brothers and sisters, we have reunited…”

His hand was warm, his grip nowhere near as harsh as Aethelwold's had been, and his touch was welcome. As the cold of the lake sunk into her bones she dared to wonder, would he embrace her and keep her close during the cold winter?

Heat went up her neck.

Father Beocca's words were heartfelt and Aethelflaed was ashamed to say that she had been focused on something else. Her attention shifted back at him when he spoke directly to the Dane.

“Do you, Erik, son of Thor, take this woman, Aethelflaed, daughter of Alfred, as your lawful wife to have and to hold, until death parts you?”

The Northman that was to wed her squeezed her hand gently before answering.

“I do.”

“Do you Aethelflaed, daughter of Alfred, take this man, Erik, son of Thor, as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, until death parts you?”

There was a deafening silence then, the tension rising. Did anyone think she’d actually deny him?

She didn't stutter. “I do.”

Her husband released a shaky breath, as the rest of the crowd likely, but Aethelflaed’s attention wasn’t on them. Erik, because she now so fit to call him that on her head, let go of her hands. The veil was lifted from her head and she found herself staring at bright blue eyes.

Short scars marred his face, a beard covered the lower half of it, braided and beaded, as the hair on his head. He looked like a Dane. Uhtred hadn’t lied about that. The gaze upon his eyes was gentle, soft. Aethelflaed thought for a second that he might just be as nervous as her.

His fingers cupped her jaw and pulled her towards him. She followed, leaning on him. His beard scratched her in a funny way as they brushed their lips together. Heat pulled on her belly, though the kiss was nothing but short and almost sweet. His Adam’s apple bobbed when they separated, Aethelflaed was blushing.

Around them, the crowd cheered.

 

* * *

 

Aethelflaed had thought she knew what a feast was. Her husband’s people quickly showed her wrong. The people danced in circles, with their arms locked together; laughing and singing loudly in tune with the songs. She could see both Northmen and Mercians together, while the Wessex party stayed rather close to each other.

She had been sitting still, receiving gifts of all kind and best wishes from anyone that cared to give them. So many. As the food was plenty so was the mead, Aethelflaed had watched with wide eyes how Northmen chugged down generous amounts of it while she held a cup of her own.

Different games had started, Uhtred and his men had joined the Danes for a strength competition of some sorts. Even Hild was watching them with amusement as they separated.

Erik was silently staring at his bride. How difficult could it be to start a conversation? She seemed mesmerized by the people dancing before them. Should he invite her to join them? Perhaps it was too early for that. After a few cups of mead he might feel the courage to, who knows.

“You are enjoying yourself?” The voice of her husband startled her. Aethelflaed turned to look at him. He was smiling, his eyes shining well-humored. The mead must have gotten to him to, but there were no cups near him.

She tried to give him a smile of his own. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a feast quite like this.”

“Saxon feasts are too grim?” He laughed, “Worry not, our people will make up for you’ve lost.”

_Our._

Her heart jumped.

“That’s good to-“

“Erik!”

A man approached their table, clearly drunk and in high spirits. Aethelflaed was sure she’d seen him at the strength competition with Uhtred. A young woman – _One of her ladies!_ Aethelflaed realized- was holding onto his hand, pulling him back for a dance, but he ignored her.

“Come join us, brother” The man smiled widely. There was something animalistic to that smile, it made her uneasy. Erik stared at him. “Or are you already afraid of your woman’s anger?”

Aethelflaed could feel her mother’s look on them.

Erik cleared his throat. “My lady, this is my older brother, Sigefrid.”

The black-haired man turned finally at her, his eyes ran through her body and he went to grab her hand, placing a kiss on the back. “Sister.” He called her. She could have sworn that her husband seemed embarrassed by him. “Would you mind if I stole him for a while? You’ll have him for yourself for the rest of his life”

What was she supposed to do? Deny him?

She gave him a tight smile. “Please enjoy yourselves.”

Her husband looked at her as his brother pulled him from the table. Aethelflaed slumped against the chair, feeling both relieved and disappointed. She drank what was left in her cup.  At that moment, Gisela appeared.

“Come join us, _lady._ ” Gisela mocked the man as he went far enough. It actually pulled a laugh out of Aethelflaed. “Don’t laugh at me, my Lady. I mean every word, dance with me.” It might have been a request, but it sounded every bit as an order.

“I don’t think it would be correct for me to do so.” Aethelflaed looked discretely at her mother, who was sitting along the priests and nuns. All but Hild and Father Beocca, both of whom were enjoying themselves. “I don’t think I’m supposed my seat at the table.”

“Lady, this is _your_ wedding.” Gisela was staring at her as if she could not believe what she was hearing, and it was such an odd look in the woman, that Aethelflaed laughed. Again. Maybe the mead had affected her a bit. “You are a married woman, your mother cannot order you anymore.”

Before she knew what was happening, Aethelflaed found herself off her high seat and entangling her arms with Gisela and Thyra's. The music just seemed to grow louder, and even more people appeared to have joined them at the dancing. Aethelflaed felt lightheaded and free, she had all but forgotten of her sulking mother sitting nearby.

She danced twice with Uhtred, who was having a great time, if his face was anything to go by, before Gisela snatched her husband. Then she went to Steapa, who wasn't very graceful, but was spirited. She went on to dance even with Finan and Sihtric. So bold she felt, Aethelflaed denied Aethelwold a turn -and he took her rejection with a tight smile as Uhtred’s men laughed-.

As her dance with Sihtric finished, she was suddenly crushed against someone’s chest. She was already apologizing when she saw to who it belonged.

Her husband raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you feeling well?”

Aethelflaed’s rush went down, she was mortified. “I-I am.”

He didn’t seem to mind though. “Do you think you can dance one more time? If not, we can retire for the night.”

With the way he held her, it was clearly his turn. He had waited enough. Then she realized what retiring for the night meant.

_Retire for the night._

Aethelflaed gave him a nod and a bow. “I think I can manage one more.”

Her husband smiled, his white teeth showing. “That’s good to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I know nothing of weddings? Also, can you tell that I love Gisela? Hopefully.
> 
> If you are dissapointed by the lack of Vikings's Floki/Helga type of wedding, worry not. It will come later.
> 
> Please tell me ypur thoughts, saty tuned for more !


	5. The First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aethelflaed's wedding night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 84 years...But better late than never, right?

_The Thurgilsons brother’s Mercian state._

 

The palm of his hand feels warm through the back of her thick, layered dress. She’s sobered up suddenly and Aethelflaed believes that he hasn’t drank much at all, so he must be quite lucid as well. She’s nervous, there’s little point on hiding that. She hopes he cannot tell by the light shaking of her hands or the slowness of her steps.

They have left the feast in a quiet manner, though they were obviously unable to go without attracting some eyes. Gisela had winked at her playfully and offered what Aethelflaed believed to be an encouraging smile. Uhtred had stared as they walked away together, though his expression had been hard to read. Her husband’s brother had smiled widely, in a way that had made her slightly uncomfortable, as if his eyes would follow them into the marriage bed.

If this had been Wessex, she would have retired early with her ladies to prepare for the night to come. They would helped with her dress and change her into a shift, one made of light, soft translucent fabric that was made to please her husband, who’d hopefully come to please her too. But Aethelflaed’s ladies were back at the feast, both likely dancing with other guests and well in their cups already.

 _Erik_ had asked her if she wished to retire for the night instead, and she couldn’t do much other than nod in agreement. And here they found themselves, walking silently in the corridors while the walls drowned the sound of music and loud cheering that went outside. She had been told that the Thurgilsons warriors and the soldiers from her party had been allowed to celebrate too, so that was likely them.

She wasn’t sure of where they were going. She couldn’t imagine that her husband would like them to share the women’s room she had been given in the morning. Was there even a bed in there? She could no longer remember.

Her eyes went down as a blush rose on her cheeks. Despite her nervousness, Aethelflaed couldn’t deny there was a part of her that was… _curious_ for what was to come. His grip on her had been gentle as they had twirled around the hall, would it also be kind when he bedded her? She couldn’t help but wonder.

He was a handsome man, not in the way she’d normally find a man good-looking, but handsome still. He was also tall and strong, thing that she had grown to appreciate by watching her father’s men spar sessions. He might be good with the sword, she thought. Gisela had told her that it wasn’t unknown for Dane women to fight along their men, maybe he wouldn’t mind her own affinity with the sword.

So lost in her own thoughts, she jumped a bit when he spoke.

“Did you enjoy the feast?” He asked her.

“Yes, it was lovely.” She responded, still looking down. She couldn’t bring herself to face him. “I don’t think I had ever seen such a...spirited celebration before.”

Her husband let out a rough laugh. “There shall be no shortage of them in the future, I promise.” The silence stretched between them as the corridor itself, Aethelflaed felt as if they’d never reach destiny. The Dane broke it once more. “Was the room to your liking?”

“The room?” She repeated. She could feel him nodding by her side.

“Aye, I think it was a woman’s room, from before we got here. I made my people fix it for you.” He cleared his throat. “Did you like it?”

She could hardly remember the room from the morning, she had been too anxious and focused on her conversation with Gisela to look around much. The little she recalled from the place had been nice enough, and she wasn’t going to deny him that.

“I did, thank you.” Then, it occurs her. “Is that where we are going?” 

Erik shook his head. "No, we are going to my room. My bed is bigger." Sweat went down her spine, along with an unknown feeling twisting in her belly. "Though you can sleep there if you wish to do so." Aethelflaed almost stopped walking.

He was- Was he suggesting that they spend the night in separate quarters?

Ever since she had reached marriageable age, and perhaps a bit before that, Aethelflaed had been told what was to be expected from her during her wedding night and the rest of her marriage. She had never found herself _rejecting_ the idea. After all, she had her duty to Wessex and her father, and Lord Aethelred hadn’t been hard on the eye. But to be given such a choice over the matter…Well, she hadn’t seen that coming.

“Ah-No, my Lord.” She told him quickly. The word ‘duty’ was at the tip of her tongue, but she felt her husband wouldn’t appreciate it. “Your room will serve.” Her eyes went to the end of her dress, more conscious than ever of his warm hand on her back.

“Erik,” he said. “I would have you call me Erik, now that we are married.”

“Of course,” she responded. “As long as you call me Aethelflaed.”

He says her name, as if he were tasting it. It comes out accented, the way Uhtred may pronounce it in the rare occasion that he refers to her by name. She likes it, or perhaps she is too nervous and focusing in odd things.

Not only nervous, a voice whispered in her head. _Excited._  One that sounded much like Gisela.

It takes her a second to realize she’s staring at his lips, only when his eyes meet hers she becomes aware of his intention. His fingers clasp her wrist, gently. Aethelflaed, feeling brave, closes the distance between them. Bold as she may be, her kissing is inexperienced, and she is not entirely certain of where to put her hands during the whole thing.

He makes up for her lack of knowledge. One of his arms curls around her waist, the other one going to her hair. She feels the flowers land on the floor when he twists her curls. His beard scratches her lips and nose, a ticklish feeling in her face. She accidentally bites his lower lip, but before she can even think about apologizing, he gasps softly against her.

He takes a step forward and her back suddenly meets the wall. One of his hands wonders down her body, while the other remains on the crook of her neck, fingers laced in her now-ruined braids. The feeling of his callous skin is not unpleasant, and she finds herself wishing for _more_.

A sigh leaves her lips when his mouth leaves her to meet her throat, her grip on his braided hair tightening the smallest bit. It makes him groan against her, the sound sends a hot feeling down her stomach and to her belly.

She ignores how inappropriate this is, how they are yet to reach the room and how anyone could simply walk past them and find them tangled here. That, until her hand fidgets with the end of his ceremonial shirt and realizes she wants it off him.

“My lord… _Erik._ ” She nervously licked her lips, her mouth felt dry and her cheeks hot. “Perhaps we should move to your room.” The warmth in her face only grew with her words. Lord, a pious woman should not speak in such a suggestive mother! What would her mother say if she saw her?

Aethelflaed refused to entertain that thought.

Erik stood straight once more, with blushed cheeks and a heavy breath. Aethelflaed allowed herself to feel the barest satisfaction in the knowledge that it had been her actions that brought him to such state.

“Of course,” he nodded, quickly. He took her hand this time, rather than wrapping his arm around her waist. The corridors that had seemed endless not long ago now were short and they reached the dark-wood door in no time.

There wasn’t a guard in sight, for what she was grateful. She had no desire of being seen like this by anyone but her husband, who she hoped shared the feeling.

Someone had recently been there, she realized when they entered his room. There was fire in the hearth and candles were lit in the table, where there also was cheese, grapes and bread. Aethelflaed saw a bottle of wine, along with two cups.

Her eyes briefly brushed over the bed, before her husband took her once more in his arms. Her touch over her was soft and his grip over her form was light, nothing like the strength he had shown her in the morning as he grasped her hand. He was letting her take her time, she realized.

With a few insistent tugs on her part, Erik removed the shirt from his body. With the faint light, Aethelflaed could appreciate little from sight, but she could _feel_ the strength of his body with her hands. She eagerly moved them through his form; every inch of him spoke of his life as a warrior. 

Aethelflaed had been kept in the company of nuns, ladies and her mother her whole life. Other than training with Steapa and watching Uhtred’s men from afar, this was the closest she had ever been to a man.

Aethelflaed pushed him away lightly, to unlace the front part of her dress. This would have been much easier if her ladies had been around, she idly thought. She hoped they were enjoying themselves well enough. She met his eyes by chance, he was staring at her intensely. Her cheeks couldn’t possibly feel warmer than that, Aethelflaed looked down, feigning difficulty at the time of undoing the knots in her dress.

Eventually, the knots are untangled and the fabric falls to the floor. Erik gave her no time to unlace the rest of it before he was back on top of her. His hands roamed through her body, gently squeezing and massaging her curves.

His hands moved, warily, under the shift. He touches her down from her ankles to her upper thighs and Aethelflaed feels the exact moment when everything gets ruined. The cold feeling of steel presses against her, for her husband had accidentally touched it, pushing it to her body. A cold feeling washed over her, killing the heat that had burned so ardently on her belly. Shame and fear clog her throat as Erik rises from her trembling body.

In his hand is the dagger that Gisela had given her.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Erik was the first one to wake up. He had been sleeping on his stomach. Not as spread out as he’d usually be, for there was another body in his bed. He was tempted to curl around her, to share her warmth, but his wife may not appreciate it. He almost moaned, recalling the events of the night before.

He had- Well, he had done what he thought right. He hadn’t groped her arse or bosom, despite how nicely-shaped they were or how they had felt as he ran his hands through them. Erik wasn’t made of stone, but he wasn’t a wild boar either. Unlike what most Christians might think he is, what his wife _expected_ him to be.

The dagger had been a surprise.

There weren’t many instances in which Erik Thurgilson could say he had been surprised. In battle, an untimely surprise meant death more often than not and he prided himself on being keen at reading people’s intentions. But when he had slipped his hands beneath his wife’s dress to find a _dagger_ of all things, Erik had been surprised. Not as much as his wife.

It was because of it that he had not pushed her away or reacted violently. Then she’d started to cry and she had confessed the rumors that had reached her about his reputation. He had taken the sharp thing away from her, Aethelflaed hadn’t told him how she had acquired it and Erik had the feeling that she wouldn’t tell him even if he asked.

The begging had just assured him of what he already thought: her father hadn’t set her up to kill him. If she had come to his bed with the intention of butchering him in his sleep, she wouldn’t have been so careless about her weapon of choice. Erik had seen her for what she truly was.

Some scared girl forced to marry a savage.

The thought had cooled him down and it was then that he decided it was better they slept. He hadn’t missed the embarrassment in her pretty features, how she had shakily asked him if he was going to send her back to Wessex. He wasn’t going to, he had no wish to war with the man called Alfred.

She had let him, _insisted_ , that they share the bed. Erik had complied, with no wishes of spending the night in the hard floor. He didn’t think she was a threat to him, but he made a point of placing the dagger under his side of the bed.

He took a look at her. She hadn’t bothered to keep the dress, pulling off what was left of it and staying on a sheer shift that left little to Erik’s imagination. He wasn’t complaining, she looked lovely on it. But it wasn’t thick enough to cover her from the cool morning air.

Erik sighed against the canopy of the bed, pulling the sheets and furs over her sleeping body. His fingers dared to thread on her gold-brown hair, just for a second. Then, he sat and started dressing himself. He’d let her sleep, after all, it had been quite the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support and the patience! You guys kept me inspirated. Hopefully the next chapter will come muuch faster. 
> 
> Also, I bet some of you might be wanting to kill me for that ending. 
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed, don't forget to comment if you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> If you have enjoyed, please let me know! The rest of the chapters should be up soon.


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